


dancing on your blades

by Setkia



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU, Fluff, M/M, Viktor's very foreign, Yuuri kinda has anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 16:59:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8808736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setkia/pseuds/Setkia
Summary: They want to shut down the rink.They need more space for a new mall they’re building, it’s the oldest rink in the prefecture, no one’s used it in years, there are cobwebs on the windows and dust on the railing, the ice is just barely maintained, skating on it would be dangerous. He knows this, he’s sure everyone knows this, so when he walks into the building to make sure next month’s demolition will go off without a hitch, and music meets his ears, Yūri is very confused.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Yuuri on Ice, here's a new story because of Viktor's birthday! So here's a little heads-up, it's an AU story where Viktor doesn't know Japanese too well, so that means when Yuuri speaks fast, or stutters, it's a bit hard for Viktor to understand him. Viktor is very rich (for reasons never stated), he's not a Japanese citizen, he lived in Japan for a bit. I know almost nothing about skating so I had to look stuff up and consult my friend who DOES know about skating, so yeah .... Also, this gives Viktor a thick Russian accent, and also under the assumption Yurio doesn't exist (so that when Viktor says Yuri, it's the first time he's ever said it) I don't own History Maker. In 5 days it has become my most listened to song. Help. I wanted to post on Viktor's birthday, but got too excited about this story.

 

 

**December 1st**

They want to shut down the rink.

They need more space for a new mall they’re building, it’s the oldest rink in the prefecture, no one’s used it in years, there are cobwebs on the windows and dust on the railing, the ice is just barely maintained, skating on it would be dangerous. He knows this, he’s sure everyone knows this, so when he walks into the building to make sure next month’s demolition will go off without a hitch, and music meets his ears, Yūri is very confused.

The lights are dimly on and the condition of the rink is not perfect, but it’s much better than he was expecting. There’s music playing from an iPod, faint for lack of speakers, and someone in the center of the rink. He opens his mouth to yell at them to get off the ice, it could be dangerous, but then the music plays and he can’t do anything but stare in awe.

Yūri’s breath catches in his throat and he can’t even think about how his fingers are cold, or how his glasses are fogging up from his breath. The fact that his heart seems to have stopped doesn’t register, his eyes are focused entirely on the figure as it moves with so much grace, such confidence, such beauty.

The song plays on a loop and he can’t help but watch each performance. Slowly by slowly, he can see the energy leave them as they jump and twirl and move their arms and yet it never gets sloppy, there’s always a certain amount of composure that comes with their movements. It goes on for perhaps hours, he loses track of time and yet though it’s late and he does need his fair share of sleep, he continues to watch.

When the music starts for perhaps the fiftieth time, they change their pose, the one he’s come to memorize as a signal for the beginning. He thinks it’s over, but he’s wrong. Rather, they start to do laps, practice the routine without the jumps, since they seem to be the most tiring portion of the program. Their arms seem to move with a certain grace, something he can’t pinpoint but can say with certainty is one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen.

Finally they skate off to the far side of the rink and the music is turned off. The figure disappears, the lights turn off and he’s left standing in the rink, once again abandoned, once again quiet and unused, but for those few hours that person practiced, it came to life so vividly.

**December 2nd**

Yūri goes again.

He wants to see them, wants to know them. Perhaps it’s because of his failures that he wishes to speak to someone who made progress, wants to learn from them. Maybe it’s selfish, to ask the one person who uses the rink whose future is inexistent to train him, to teach him, but such beauty, he’s never seen it before.

He goes earlier than before, starting at nine o’clock rather than ten. At nine-thirty, the doors open and he hides. He fears that if he’s caught, he may not get to approach them.

They keep the lights off in the main entrance, their footsteps loud in comparison to the quiet of the rest of the building. The duffel bag hits the ground and they lace up their skates, using the light of their phone, as if to keep up the appearance of it being an abandoned location. They slip onto the rink and turn on the lights, set low, enough to see, but not enough to determine who it is on the ice, placing their phone to the side, pressing play. It’s a different song, but they don’t seem to have a routine, it’s more like they’re warming up.

They skate around the perimeter. He ducks when they get close to him, so he can’t really see them. Yūri has a vague idea of what they look like though. He can tell their body type, they have a thin frame and yet are slightly muscled. They have lighter hair than he’s used to, but he can’t quite tell. Are they a man? A woman? With the way women do their hair nowadays, he can never tell.

Yūri watches for several more hours and when he checks his watch this time around, he realizes he’s been watching for at least four hours. Four hours till they tire and turn off the music, shut the lights and escape like a secret fading into the darkness.

 **December** **5th**

He screws up this time.

They get onto the ice and begin to do a warm up like clockwork at nine-forty-five and begin their routine at ten on the nose. Time fades away as he watches, as though it’s irrelevant and then, suddenly, in the middle of a quad flip they fall to the ice.

He lets out a gasp and almost immediately, the mysterious person on the ice peels themselves up off the floor, stands up abruptly, and dash off, shutting the lights.

The music’s still playing.

 **December** **6th**

They ask him at work what condition the rink is in. He doesn’t know what to tell them. He shrugs because he knows if he opens his mouth, he’ll mention the one on the rink and he’s not sure if they’re allowed to be there. This has already gone too far and he should tell them to leave already, but he can’t find it within him to say a thing.

He’s given up on approaching them, he’ll get too nervous, he knows it and when he gets nervous, he can’t speak and his tongue gets too tied and then he hyperventilates. He couldn’t manage a confrontation of any kind, whether it be to ask for assistance in skating, or if it were to scare them off the ice.

He doesn’t want to check the phone, that would be creepy, but he notices the battery is low and of the same model as his own so he charges it. He can’t help but notice the lock-screen is of a poodle, and a very cute poodle at that.

But now he has a stranger’s phone. He really should give it back. He can manage to slip in a quick little “please don’t come to the rink anymore” while he’s at it, so long as he keeps his eyes down. He feels their presence may overwhelm him. It’s a good plan, sure to work.

**December 8th**

He tells himself this but it’s been three days and he hasn’t handed it back. He hears his boss speaking loudly on the phone to someone who has a complaint about the removal of the rink, and it really annoys his boss. He’s in a bad mood and he decides it’s best not to mention the one at the rink to him. When the boss’ face gets all angry and red like that, it’s best to leave him be.

So that night he goes to the rink. He really does need to stop them, they can’t continue to use a rink that will be destroyed in a matter of weeks.

He waits inside the main entrance until eleven. No one comes.

He’s about to leave when he hears the door open and looks up to see them.

It’s a man. The mysterious skater is a man. And he’s gorgeous.

He’s wearing a white and red sweatshirt, pulled over his head, but he can see the white hair. It’s different, something he’s never seen before. His eyes are a brilliant blue that remind him of the colour of the lake when it’s frozen over, his legs are long and he’s wearing black pants, a black duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

Yūri opens his mouth to speak, but as usual when he gets nervous, the words get jammed in his throat and he can’t make a sound. He trembles slightly, something that has nothing to do with the cold.

 _Open, work,_ he commands his mouth.

“T-this is yours, r-right?” Dammit. He’s been through years of speech therapy and on bad days, his words will get a bit jumbled up, but he hasn’t stuttered since he was in his teens. He holds out the phone to him, as if it’s a peace offering.

The man stares at it and then slowly, he reaches out, as if he’s not sure how he should react. Their fingers brush for a moment and he feels cold. The man’s fingers are like icicles.

_Now that he’s got his phone, you have to tell him. Tell him now, how he can’t come back, how there’s a perfectly good, well-maintenanced rink just a few blocks over. Do it now, before you choke on your own spit._

Yūri opens his mouth, his lips feel dry but he’s ready, he’s going to tell him off but then the words come out and they sound an awful lot like “I watch you.”

The man raises an eyebrow and tilts his head to the side. He can feel his face turning red.

“I mean I watch you skate- no that doesn’t sound any better, I like to watch you when you skate, does that sound good? I don’t know. I uh, I think you’re very graceful, you skate beautifully.” The man looks at him strangely, because of course it’s strange, he doesn’t know the man and he’s already rambling, blabbering, his words are slurring together, almost as if he were drunk, he doesn’t sound intelligent in the least. “I’m Yūri,” he says this part loud and clear and turns even darker.

_Abort mission, abort, just let him skate whenever he wants, he’ll get the message once the rink’s gone-_

“Yūri.”

The word sounds foreign, it’s obvious with the way the man says it, he’s not used to it. He pronounces it a bit harshly and Yūri realizes he’s a foreigner. Well that explains the silver-like hair. Perhaps it’s okay, it’s not like he understood him, right?

He can save this, he just has to start over, and he gets an immediate redo, which he knows you almost never get. He clears his throat and plans to tell him to leave, politely of course, but he’s set firm in his decision and it’s going to work and-

“C-can I watch?”

Shit. That’s _not_ what he meant to say.

He watches as the Foreigner leans back a little and seems to contemplate for a while, perhaps he’s trying to understand him. Yūri’s about to speak, about to speak clearly and say what he’s supposed to when something seems to click in the man’s head because now he’s grinning.

“Watch?” he repeats. “Why ask?” He stumbles over this for a moment, it’s clear he’s out of practice in this language. “Come.”

And then, before Yūri can do anything, he has the Foreigner’s hand on his wrist, pulling him forward and he’s opening the doors to the rink. He flips the lights on and suddenly, the whole rink is lit up. “You need more light, right?” he says to Yūri’s surprise. “You charged it, yes?” asks the Foreigner, sitting on the bench and opening his duffel bag. He pulls out white skates and by white, Yūri means white. They’re spotless and he’s not quite sure how he keeps them that way.

The Foreigner then skates out onto the rink and takes his position.

Even though he’s seen it thousands of times before, it feels different. All those other times, he didn’t know, all those times he was oblivious to Yūri’s presence. This time, it’s a show. For him.

He doesn’t know him, not at all, not his name, not his country of origin, not why he’s in Japan, or why he chose this rink to skate at when it’s so clearly abandoned. But that doesn’t even matter. The doors to the ice are kept open, Yūri can walk away if he wants, but he stays rooted to the spot. He can’t make himself move, can’t find it within himself to budge.

When it ends, the Foreigner skates to where Yūri stands and grins. “So? What do you think?”

“It’s different.”

The man tilts his head and frowns just a bit. “Good different or bad different?”

“Good,” Yūri says.

“Of course,” says the man as though it’s the simplest thing.

Yūri’s confused.

“You’re watching,” says the man. “So I’m doing better.”

Yūri turns red.

The man looks at him and grins, putting a finger underneath his chin and tilting it up. “Yūri,” he says and it sends a shiver down Yūri’s spine. He’s not used to the way he says it, as if it’s some kind of exotic word. “Thank you.”

Yūri doesn’t know what it’s for, just stares into his eyes and feels his heart stop. He doesn’t know what to think, doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do or say, but that seems to be okay because the man gets off the ice and walks away.

Thank you for what? For watching? For charging his phone?

It takes him thirty minutes before he manages to get control over his body and walk out the doors of the rink and right there, leaning against the wall, is the man with the silver hair, waiting for him.

Yūri doesn’t have words so he just gapes.

The man smiles. “It was nice meeting you, Yūri.” The way he says his name is still a bit strange to Yūri’s ears. The name sounds familiar and yet so different. “I hope you come again.”

**December 9th**

Yūri does come again.

The man greets him with a smile and Yūri looks at the ground. They enter at the same time, and so he watches the man as he ties up his skates.

“Do you skate, Yūri?” he asks him.

Yūri is surprised by the answer. “Um, a bit,” he says. “I mean I’m not amazing or anything, not like you.”

“I’m not amazing,” says the man. He finishes tying the final knot and grins. “I’m working on a new song, if you want to watch.”

Yūri nods and takes a seat in the otherwise empty rink. There’s no one there but the two of them and it feels like they’re the only ones in the universe. The sound of the man on the ice, basically two strangers, but Yūri feels like he’s come to know him through his skating, which might be a bit self-centered to say. He listens to the song, hears it play.

He watches the man as he works, watches as he goes about twirling and spinning, deciding which jumps to use in which moments, whether to spin or whether to glide. It’s a beautiful process and he can see his breath in the air, but he’s too captivated to do anything other than stare.

They part ways again, and once again, Yūri has still forgotten to ask for the man’s name.

**December 12th**

This time when he enters, the entrance hall is empty. He wonders if the man started early so he enters the rink to see him standing on rink, but he’s holding skates in his hand, darker ones than the ones on his feet.

“Skate with me, Yūri.”

Yūri stares at him. He can’t find words, can’t manage to pull them from his throat. He’s starting to get used to hearing his name coming from those lips though, that’s something he’s gotten better at.

“What?” he repeats.

“Skate with me,” repeats the man.

“But I …”

The man’s expression falls. “Right. Sorry. I shouldn’t have made presumptions.”

“No, that’s not it,” Yūri says quickly. “I … I don’t even know your name.”

“So … if I tell you my name, you’ll skate with me?” asks the man, tilting his head to the side, reminding Yūri vaguely of a dog who cocks their head to the side when they’re confused.

Yūri turns red and it has nothing to do with the cold.  He shrugs though and turns away from him, trying to hide his embarrassment. “I don’t see a reason not to.”

There’s silence.

Has he decided his request is stupid? Has he decided he’d rather skate with a professional, someone more on his level? Has he tired of the rink itself? And then-

“Viktor.”

Yūri nods.

Viktor. It suits him.

The skates Viktor’s brought are not exactly Yūri’s size, they’re just a bit big on him. He sits on the side of the rink and puts them on. It’s been a while, he’s forgotten what it feels like on his feet, how skates aren’t the most comfortable but it’s something you forget once you hit the ice.

Yūri is slightly unstable when the blade first touches the ice, but after a little while, he’s able to glide fine. It’s kinda like riding a bike, he supposes. But he’s not sure about jumps. He tests them out, the blades are slightly worn out and perhaps they need sharpening but they’ll do. Yūri has a pair of skates in the back of his closet he hasn’t taken out in a while. He may bring them next time. That is, if Viktor will let him skate with him again.

They don’t do a routine, even if Yūri feels he could mimic Viktor’s program to the letter after seeing it so much. He tests out a few spins and Viktor watches him, circling him, making sure he doesn’t fall, watching to be certain Yūri’s steady on his feet. Viktor doesn’t skate as much as nights previous.

“Sorry,” Yūri says once he gets off the ice and takes off his skates. His feet look like they’ve been through hell. He kinda misses this pain and he realizes it’s perhaps the sweetest burn he’s ever felt.

“What for?”

“You didn’t get to practice.”

Viktor shakes his head with a giant grin on his face, his eyes lighting up in a way Yūri can’t understand. He’s never seen it before.

“Why are you smiling like that?”

“I got to watch you.”

And once again, Yūri is rendered speechless.

**December 16th**

“Why do you come to this rink?” asks Yūri one day.

“Hmm?” Viktor says, fastening his skates. It’s dark, it’s nighttime, it feels like they have a special secret. The days of little sleep are starting to catch up to him, Yūri’s going to work looking more and more run down. The problem he has is that the rink is still scheduled to be demolished in a little less than two weeks. On Christmas. How ironic. He wonders, can he keep Viktor, continue to skate with him? He just needs him to leave this rink, go somewhere else, and then they can continue to skate like the nights before and it would be wonderful. He can still hear his boss complaining over the phone about someone who’s still fighting against the demolition. He wishes everything could go smoothly, so he didn’t have to worry about so many things at once, but he supposes it wouldn’t be life otherwise.

“Because I love it,” says Viktor. He tilts his head. “Are you okay, Yūri?”

Yūri nods, but he doesn’t feel alright.

Viktor is sweet. Does he know about the plans to demolish the rink? Does he know that Yūri is part of the team who will be doing it? “Let’s skate, okay?” he says instead but it comes out wobbly thanks to his nerves. Viktor looks at him strangely.

“Japanese is my second language,” says Viktor, confirming what Yūri was suspecting. “Can you repeat?”

“Let’s skate,” he says again. This time there’s more force behind it, he sounds more certain, even if he himself doesn’t feel it.

This time as they skate Yūri wonders how he can tear down something so precious to this person.

**December 17th**

“What’s your first?”

Viktor looks up at him in surprise. They’ve finished skating for the night and he has his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “My first what?”

“Language.”

“Russian.”

“You’re from Russia?”

Viktor nods. The print on his jacket reminds Yūri strongly of Russia, now that he thinks about it. Perhaps it’s because Viktor’s eyes have been distracting him from actually remarking his jacket beyond its general appearance.

“Your Japanese is pretty good.”

“I lived in Japan a bit,” Viktor says. “For about three years or so, when I was a kid. Then I went home.”

“Why are you back?” Yūri asks before he can stop himself. He turns red. “Sorry, you barely know me, you probably don’t want to answer-”

“Because I wanted to skate here.”

“In Japan?”

Viktor shakes his head. “No, _here_ , in this rink.”

“Why this rink?”

“Cause it’s my childhood,” he says softly with a look in his eyes that breaks Yūri. He can’t take this away from him. “And you? Why are you here?”

Yūri could tell him the truth and be honest. This is the moment above any other to be honest, this is the moment to come clean. He shouldn’t even be here, knowing this place will be destroyed in a matter of days almost, he should’ve told Viktor to get off the ice that first night. But this time, instead of saying he should’ve done it, he’s going to do it. He can be honest. “The rink’s going to be demolished.”

He watches as Viktor’s jaw clenches. “I heard,” he says.”I’ve been fighting back. I know no one uses this place but still, it’s a piece of history in and of itself, isn’t it? The first rink in all of the prefecture, back when skating was just starting to become popular. I think I can make a good case.” Viktor’s eyes shine with a certain glow that pulls at Yūri’s heart. “Hey, can you help me? I’m not technically a citizen, I don’t know how much my word is worth.”

“Actually …”

_Tell him the truth, be honest. Tell him that you’re the rookie they’ve placed in charge of this whole demolition, tell him what he deserves to know. Tell him to find another rink, tell him to skate somewhere else, tell him to go back to Russia, anything-_

“That sounds like it could be fun.”

Shit. This is how lives go down hill in soap operas, there’s a misunderstanding and in the grand scheme of things, those characters always lose what they were trying to hold onto the most. He can’t screw this up, he can’t do this. He opens his mouth to add in a “but I don’t think it’s a good idea” but Viktor’s already grinning and it’s infectious.

“We’re going to make a difference, Yūri,” he says and Yūri feels like he’s telling the truth, as if because he said it with such conviction, it must be true.

**December 18th**

Yūri wonders if perhaps Viktor’s forgotten about his stupid agreement to his plan.

Viktor has not forgotten. Even worse, he’s brought wine.

“To celebrate,” he says.

“You’re going to skate while intoxicated?” Yūri asks, raising an eyebrow.

Viktor shakes his head. “No, I mean afterwards,” he says. “I’m itching to get on the ice. Afterwards we’ll toast, kay?” He grins and seems to be on the top of the world. “I was thinking we could try to do a program together. Like a duet.”

Yūri has never performed with someone before and he doesn’t know how he’d go about doing it, but Viktor looks more than a little excited.

“Do you have a song in mind?”

Viktor grins. “ _History_ _Maker_.”

Yūri listens to the song and he can’t help but grin. It really is a beautiful song, one that seems to capture all of his feelings when he’s on the ice, all his mixed emotions of being nervous and not confident enough, but at the same time, how he hates to lose.

Viktor watches him more intensely as he warms up, as if he’s trying to list all of Yūri’s abilities, so he’ll know what he has to work with. Then they get started. Yūri hopes Viktor knows what he’s doing, because Yūri is a complete novice when it comes to this.

Turns out Viktor doesn’t quite know how to do a duet either. He approaches it like they’re performing two separate programs, with almost no interaction between the two on the ice. He watches as Yūri does a quadruple Salchow and frowns. “You stumble a lot with that one,” he notes.

“I …” Yūri doesn’t really know what he can say to that because it’s true, he’s never managed to do it. “Teach me?” he asks, his voice cracking perhaps a bit and it takes some time, but Viktor eventually gets it and he grins widely.

“Of course.”

It takes a long time. Viktor doesn’t quite know how to teach. He’ll perform and then he’ll ask Yūri to copy, but he’s never quite sure what Yūri’s doing wrong since their bodies are so different. He asks which is Yūri’s dominant leg, then has him try it again. It’s been awhile since Yūri’s thought this, but now he worries about the state the ice is in.

After an hour of practice, Yūri really can’t shake it off. He doesn’t feel safe on the ice and yet Viktor glides with complete confidence, as if he knows that nothing will happen to him, like he knows exactly how much weight the ice can take and he’s able to never push that barrier. Yūri gets nervous about his landings, about the ice beneath his feet.

Viktor notices.

“You okay?” he asks.

Yūri nods.

Viktor frowns.

He knows he’s lying.

“Want to stop for tonight?”

Yūri nods.

And then Viktor pulls out the wine and Yūri feels sick. He can’t hold his alcohol very well, he has numerous disastrous stories about how he acts under the influence, but Viktor’s offering it with a wide grin, as a toast to their action against the government, about how they’ll make a difference, so Yūri gives in and has a glass.

And then another.

And another.

And another.

Eventually he’s more than a little buzzed. Whereas Viktor is looking just a little flushed, Yūri is straight-up slurring his words, almost swaying, like he can’t handle his own weight.

“Viktoooor,” he says, laying on his back on the bench. The rink is still cold, his skates are laying on the side as are Viktor’s. His glasses are starting to fog up.

“Yes, Yūri?” replies Viktor happily.

Yūri reaches out blindly and grabs, pulling at Viktor’s jacket. He pulls him down with him, something a sober Yūri would find strange since he’s pretty sure Viktor is stronger than him, but then again, a sober Yūri wouldn’t be doing this. Viktor falls with grace, somehow, which Yūri doesn’t understand because even with all his years on the ice and his ballet lessons, he’s still a klutz. How can he make falling on top of someone beautiful? It’s really unfair.

“You’re really pretty,” he slurs and his breath reeks of alcohol, he knows it, but he keeps going because Viktor looks really cute when he’s surprised and he’s red and Yūri’s not sure if it’s because of the wine or not, but it’s really adorable. He wants to see that more. “Like, really, really pretty.”

“Am I?” Viktor says with a wide grin. “How pretty?”

“I already told you, really pretty, like so pretty, s’not even fair.”

Viktor’s brow furrows for a moment and Yūri waits. He knows he must be hard to understand at this point, so very drunk, so very slurring and though Viktor won’t say it, he knows that sometimes Viktor only understands half of what Yūri says and fills in the blanks, or Yūri will speak too fast for him and Viktor will pretend to be lost in thought while he scrambles to understand. Yūri can wait, he’s patient.

It’s worth the wait.

Viktor turns a lovely shade of scarlet.

“Hey Viktor, I really like skating with you,” Yūri adds, wondering how red he can turn him. “Like, I really _really_ like it.”

“Really is starting to lose its meaning,” Viktor replies with a goofy grin.

“Shuddup, I’m trying to tell you how nice you are!” Yūri hits Viktor lightly in the chest. “It’s really nice when you skate too, on your own. I like the way you skate, a lot. Like, really a lot.”

Viktor grins. Is he making fun of him for using the word “really” a lot?

“It’s … beautiful,” Yūri says, finding the right word.

And then something flashes in Viktor’s eyes that Yūri can’t describe and the Russian’s lips are on his and Yūri has to hold on for dear life because, similar to the way Viktor puts everything into his skating, he puts everything into this kiss, a tang of bitterness from the alcohol, but nonetheless, it’s still wonderful and Yūri has to say that it’s probably the best kiss he’s ever had, though he really has not much to compare to (a couple of kisses from his aunt on the cheek, which are disgusting and an unfortunate game of Spin the Bottle). He grabs onto Viktor’s jacket, feels the material underneath his fingers and his fists clench around it, bunching the fabric between his fingers.

They talk about how kissing a French person is amazing, they’ve clearly never tried with a Russian.

He feels Viktor’s fingers in his hair, pulling him closer and he doesn’t protest, probably wouldn’t protest if he were sober. And then Viktor tries to flip them over-

_CRASH!_

It’s kind of hard to flip someone over when you’re balancing on a rather narrow piece of wood where people are meant to sit to put on skates, not to have intense make-out sessions.

Viktor pulls back and grins, it’s the largest smile Yūri’s ever seen someone wear and he can’t help but smile right back.

But somewhere in the back of Yūri’s mind, he knows this can’t continue if he keeps up this lie. So he’ll tell Viktor tomorrow night.

**December 19th**

Yūri feels like hell when he wakes up.

He’s forgotten how much hangovers suck. And then he gets a text on his phone and it sounds way too loud. What’s that ringtone? He doesn’t have any ringtone. It nearly gives him a heart attack, but he recognizes the song.

_History Maker._

_Shit. Shit, shit, shitty shit shit._

Yūri doesn’t even bother reading the text. He knows he’s late for work and he has many things he may wish to forget and as such, his mind has decided to blank them out for him. He can’t decide if it’s a blessing or a curse.

He runs to the office and yes, he looks like a wreck, he can admit that, he looks like he shouldn’t have even been hired. He stumbles in and he gets a pat on the back by a coworker, saying something about how it’s great Yūri finally got himself laid. Yūri doesn’t think he did. What if he did? What if he did and he can’t even remember and it was with Viktor?

He pushes the doors to the boss’ office open with a loud _BANG_ and screams “Sorry I’m late!”

And then he freezes.

Because Viktor is standing in the room, staring at Yūri with wide eyes, like he can’t understand, can’t believe that he’s actually there. And Yūri can’t blame him because he’s thinking the exact same thing.

“Ah yes, Nikiforov-san, you wanted to speak to the one in charge of the rink’s demolition, yes?” the boss asks and Yūri wants to scream at him that no, he can’t say that, not to Viktor because he can’t take the look on the Russian’s face when he looks at Yūri, mouthing the word “you?”. “Nikiforov-san, meet Katsuki-san. I’m sure you can settle your complaints with him-”

“Sorry, but I have elsewhere to be.” Viktor’s voice is tight, there’s no looseness that Yūri loves to hear. He stumbles over his words and he mutters something that half-sounds like “I’m sorry” and the rest is swallowed by a language Yūri doesn’t know.

Russian.

“Odd,” says the boss, watching Viktor’s retreating back before he turns to Yūri. “Now, care to tell me why you’re late?”

Yūri opens his mouth to speak but no words come out. He can’t think of what to say, doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, doesn’t know what to say, what’ll make things _right_. He doesn’t have money, that’s why he’s employed, why he’s racing around trying to make money by doing things he doesn’t believe in.

He splutters out something like an apology and some lame excuse that may be the farthest from the truth he’s ever stated and then he goes to his office and opens his phone. There’s a flood of messages.

_Viktor: I left an hour ago. Are you up yet? [8:00]_

_Viktor: I had fun last night. Did you? [8:01]_

_Viktor: I don’t regret it. [8:45]_

_Viktor: Do you? [9:00]_

_Viktor: I know it might be a bit weird to say, but I think I love you. [10:44]_

That’s the last message.

Yūri doesn’t know where Viktor is, he doesn’t even know where to begin to find him. They practically are strangers and it hurts to realize it. He doesn’t know what happened, he’s not a hundred percent sure. So he holds his phone and his hands tremble and he’s not sure if Viktor would reply to a text, but he forces his fingers to move across the keyboard.

_Yūri: I can explain. [11:02]_

It doesn’t take long till it says it’s been read. But there’s no reply.

Yūri has to work now but he’s never hated his work more. When his lunch break finally comes, he locks himself in the bathroom stall and calls.

No answer.

He gets a text.

_Viktor: Don’t call me. [12:22]_

**December 20th**

Yūri goes back to the rink, but Viktor isn’t there. This makes his job easier, but even if this means he’ll be able to bring some money home, he feels like he’s lost something more important. Viktor is basically a stranger, so why does it hurt so much that he doesn’t see him at the rink? It’s not like it was an official thing, not like they planned to meet every night. Except Yūri kinda thought it _was_ an unwritten rule sort of thing and so it hurts to know Viktor can give up their routine so easily.

He considers skating on his own, but decides against.

He doesn’t have a reason to skate anymore.

**December 25th**

It’s Christmas morning and Yūri is standing in front of the rink for the last time. There’s a giant wrecking ball to get the job done and it’s far too early to be awake, Yūri is honestly only a little bit awake. They need his signal to start.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, hears the crane ready to get started, and the faintest sound of music. He doesn’t know where it’s coming from, it’s probably his imagination so he raises his hand and-

_“Can you hear my heartbeat?”_

“STOP!” he screams.

It startles the driver and he freezes. “What’s wrong?” asks Yūri’s boss.

“There’s someone inside,” he says, his voice shaking. “Wait. Just give me a second.”

He pushes his clipboard into the boss’ hands and ignores how he shouldn’t be acting so insolent towards his superior. He rushes through the double doors to see Viktor skating on the rink, his phone is hooked up to speakers, the music blaring loudly.

“Viktor!”

The Russian’s head turns at the sound of his name. There’s a look in his eyes that Yūri can’t describe, some mix of surprise, shock and just a tad of nostalgia.

“They’re going to tear down the building-”

“No, _you’re_ going to tear down the building,” says Viktor, his voice firmer than Yūri’s has ever been. “I told you I plan on fighting it, and I am. I am an honest man.”

That’s a low blow, but Yūri can’t deny that it’s true.

“Viktor, there are wrecking balls outside, ready to tear this place down to its seams, now is not the time to get all stubborn!” He’s talking fast and he knows he shouldn’t be, it’s just going to take Viktor longer to understand him and he doesn’t have time for this. “Just come out with me,” he says a bit slower, hoping Viktor can hear the desperation in his voice.

“No.”

“But-”

“I said I’m staying, Yūri. If you want to tear down the rink, you’ll tear it down with me in it.”

“You’re crazy!” Yūri insists, feeling tears well up in his eyes. He’s not sad, he’s not, he’s just getting frustrated and he doesn’t know how else to show it. Yūri is not the type to throw a fit, he’s not, he’s the type to have panic attacks, break downs, but never a fit. He never gets himself into one, something always triggers him and he never knows when it’ll come but he knows the signs. He needs to calm himself down or else he won’t be able to breathe. “I just want-”

“You lied to me,” Viktor snaps and there’s a coldness in his voice that pierces Yūri’s heart. “What makes you think I can trust you?”

Yūri tries to think. What _can_ he do to regain Viktor’s trust? And then he has it.

He walks onto the ice, slightly unsteady. He’s never walked on ice before without skates on and it’s a bit hard to keep your balance, but then he stops and sits right in the middle of the rink.

Viktor stares at him, speechless.

The doors to the rink open and in walks his boss. “Oi, Katsuki-kun- what are you doing on the rink?” He’s staring at him from the gallery, hands on his hips. “Get back to work!”

“No.”

It’s perhaps the only thing he’s ever said with such finality.

His boss looks astounded. Yes,  Katsuki Yūri almost never disobeys, he’s almost like a puppet but he’s tired of being a puppet, he’s tired of not fighting for things he wants. And he wants Viktor. It clicks in his head in this moment and even if Viktor has decided he’s done with him, Yūri’s going to make him fall again, is going to get to hear Viktor say that he loves Yūri again, because he wants it and it’s about time he went after things he wanted.

If Viktor wants the rink, he’ll give him the rink. He doesn’t believe Viktor to be materialistic, he’s not someone who strikes Yūri as the type who wants money, nor does he want precious things. It’s sentiments that matter to Viktor, and so here’s his first one to him.

“You know more than anyone that this rink has to be destroyed-”

“But why?” asks Yūri. They say a new shopping mall, but there’s a shopping mall not even three blocks from the ice rink. “Is it too much to maintain it? Who owns the rink?”

“It’s between owners right now, and none of them have ever made anything of it,” says Yūri’s boss. “Now would you get up? You’re an embarrassment to the company.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“What if someone owned the building?” asks Viktor suddenly.

The boss turns and sees him for what seems like the first time. “You again?” he groans, rolling his eyes. “I should’ve known it was you-”

“What happens if someone owns the rink?” Viktor repeats in a low voice.

“I suppose we’d need permission to demolish it, but the building belongs to the prefecture who rents it out-”

“How much?”

This time both Yūri and his boss are shocked.

“What do you mean ‘how much’?”

“I mean how much is the rink? Do you not understand me?” Viktor takes out his wallet from his skating jacket. “If I give you three billion, is that enough to persuade the prefecture to give me permanent ownership?”

“But-”

Viktor takes out a pen and begins writing. In no time at all, he’s ripping a cheque off the book and grins. “That should cover it, shouldn’t it?”

“Why would you want this place?” demands the boss.

“Why?” echoes Viktor. “Because I love it.” The boss seems more than a little bit annoyed. “Until the deal is permanently made, I’d really like it if you didn’t tear down the building quite yet. I don’t want the lot after all, I want what’s in it.”

Yūri’s boss glares at him, like he expects something better out of him. Yūri can only stare because honestly, this is the most amazing thing he’s ever seen and he loves the look of fire in Viktor’s eyes and the smug look on his face when he knows he’s won.

“And you’re just going to let the man do this?” demands Yūri’s boss.

Yūri looks up slightly at Viktor who is standing right next to where he sits. He reaches up and holds Viktor’s hand in his. His hands are cold. They feel like home.

Yūri doesn’t need words for once; his boss already knows what Yūri would say anyway.

The boss throws his arms in the air and marches out, mumbling about damn young foreigners.

Viktor helps Yūri off the ground for a moment, his eyes searching his. “What was that for?”

“I think I love you too.”

Viktor’s eyes widen and they’re the most beautiful shade of blue Yūri’s ever seen. “And I screwed up, I know I did and I want to make it better. And if you give me the chance … I’m going to try my best to make you say it back to me again.”

Viktor stares at him, his nose a bit red, his eyes reflecting something Yūri can’t name. Has he screwed up again? Has he messed up the way he always manages to do?

And then cold hands are framing his face, pulling him close and lips are on his and it’s a frenzy, he can feel Viktor’s body against his and even though the rest of him is so cold, his mouth is so warm and Yūri feels like he’s crying. The grip Viktor has on his face is so tight, like he’s scared Yūri might disappear. They pull away, but Viktor keeps their foreheads pressed together, his hands still on Yūri’s face, like he’ll slip away. That’s the last thing Yūri wants to do.

“Do you remember that night?” asks Viktor and Yūri doesn’t have to ask him to clarify.

Yūri shakes his head.

“Was I not memorable enough?” teases Viktor.

“Suppose not. You’ll just have to jog my memory,” Yūri says with a grin that splits his whole face open.

Viktor smiles right back and Yūri closes his eyes.

Yes, this is exactly what he wants.


End file.
